


the definition of death

by quillieur



Series: mankind is poised midway between the gods and the beasts [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Family Dynamics, Hurt No Comfort, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), One Shot, Short One Shot, Wilbur Soot Angst, god AU, in the loosest definition, no beta we die like wilbur soot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillieur/pseuds/quillieur
Summary: Gods don’t die.Wilbur has always been one to defy expectations.
Series: mankind is poised midway between the gods and the beasts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2212587
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	the definition of death

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact! c!wilbur has been dead for 115 days (as of march 11th)

Gods don’t die. 

It’s an unspoken truth. Mortals are born, live, and die before the century is over. Gods reign for millennia, no visible signs of weakness, or old age, and certainly not injury. Gods simply can’t die. 

When a sword pierces a stomach and ichor flows instead of blood, when a body collapses and doesn’t move, when a scream is ripped from the throat of another, three things happen.

One: another god whips his head towards the fallen. His eyes, too many and too bright, seeing more than they should, focus on the blue liquid gathering underneath the figure, and when he grins, it’s too sharp and too wide and stretches his lips a bit too thin. 

Two: a brother stops where he’s yelling at a brother, and they both turn to the remnants of a podium. No noise escapes either of them in relation to this news, and a brother continues his rant on gods long, long forgotten. Heroes, after all, fall victim to mortality eventually. 

Three: the world learns gods can, indeed, die. 

Destroyed wings shield a father and his boy from a cruel, unforgiving crater. As demons not fit for this realm screech and cry and destroy the essence of life itself, Death hovers, her fingers light as she waits. In her arms lay a sunset of spirits, dirtied by the toxic clouds of a polluted ideology as war is waged not ten feet away. 

_ Kill me, _ the boy had said, his eyes possessed by something inhuman and ungodly.  _ Kill me, _ the boy had said, arms spread and coat flaring out behind him as distant explosions rang. 

_ You’re my son,  _ the father had cried, but not for the reason the others think.  _ You’re my son, _ the father cried, because he didn’t want to be the one to wield a sword against his kin.  _ You’re my son, _ the father cried, because he was a god, and the boy shared the same not-blood as him and gods don’t die. 

Yet, against all odds and against the knowledge of the killed and against the will of the killer, there was one less god to sit upon a silver throne.

The father would later learn about the power of intent. If a person so wished to die, then by one hand or another, they would die. Neither Fate nor Death will stop in the face of intent, and so they arrived all the same. 

As the boy died with a smile and a dash of surprise on his face, the father sobbed. A sword stained with too much blue is thrown to the side, the clattering loud against the explosions and yells in the background. A corpse is cradled against the never dying.

Blood and ichor pooling on the stone floor of a disastrous room. 

A father and a son, collapsed on the floor of a disastrous room. 

A traitor and a god, together again on the floor of a disastrous room. 


End file.
